The Taxes of Life

Taxes are due. There’s no circumventing them. People have been complaining about taxes for thousands of years, but they’ll still be due next year, and fifty years from now (if I’m still around to pay them, which is doubtful).

There’s a tax on everything in life and it’s probably futile trying to resist or stress over it. The tax of food delivery is an exorbitant cost for the driver. The tax of travel is a stressful time at the airport. The tax of running marathons is an undue amount of money spent on shoes, gels, and physical therapy. If you enjoy something, though, you just accept the tax that comes with it. Hated the tax is wasted energy. It’s there whether you like it or not.

I’m not sure if I’ll accept the tax that comes with running marathons after I finish Boston. The aches and lack of weekends are a price to pay, and I look forward to more leisure.

One marathon tax that is rarely discussed is the tax on your cardiovascular system. Even the heart can be overworked, and a number of heart maladies have been found in older endurance athletes.

These taxes don’t appear to exist in the shorter distances, or in pickup basketball, which I have thought of taking on again. I’d like to rediscover my fast twitch. I was actually a mid distance swimmer, after all. The 200 meter freestyle is probably closer to an 800 meter track event than a marathon.

Moderation simply demands less tax in most instances.

The Life Balance Sheet

It’s easy for me to get consumed by unimportant information because by nature I’m a data cruncher. For example, I could tell you within a few million dollars how almost every movie performed opening weekend at the box office this year. What’s this useful for? Knowing and potentially regurgitating, I guess.

It’s more useful to know your own life’s balance sheet. I think I’m getting a better handle of that. It’s one reason why nearing age 40 is a lot less stressful than nearing aging 30. “Know thyself.” While living downtown I’d jump over a broken cement wall with the words “Know thyself” spray painted on it. I imagined there was some significance to this.

I think I saw career with more doom and gloom when I turning 30. I’ve experienced enough now to see a career as something that can provide some value, but is relatively trifling when compared to relationships, or the value of understanding life and death. I’ve seen enough people retire over the years, for example, and seen the aftermath (the company shrugs and hires someone younger, for a cheaper salary). The Protestant work ethic wheel keeps turning.

Put more concisely, I’d like to continue focusing on the things that matter, and continue getting to know myself.

Thoughts Overdressed

It’s better to avoid overdressing both yourself and your thoughts. If you can communicate the message with a scowl, avoid the monologue.

What is the perfect length of a movie or book review? Generally, most video and blog reviews are too long. I rarely read or view a review that’s too short. It’s probably because we like to imprint as much of our own character in the reviews as we can. The review becomes a form of self-expression. That’s fine, I think, because the best critics show their quirks. You can show quirks while still be concise though.

You can easily draw out a joke at the dinner table until it dies, after all.

I’m looking forward to doing more this summer by virtue of doing less. Less exercise, but more effective use of the minutes spent exercising. Less stressing, and therefore more daydreaming. Less indecision, and therefore more creating. Less work hours, and therefore more sleep.

I’m running the Boston marathon next week. I’m looking forward to the event, which I think will be a celebration of being able to do something difficult. I’m also looking forward to not devoting so much energy and resources to such a long and painful burn. I’m glad to say that I’ve run marathons, and I’ll be honored to say I ran the Boston marathon, but at the end of the day, I can’t say running that many miles is “fun.”

I had a dream last night in which I was an NBA basketball player handling the ball at the end of a critical game. I sunk a 3 to the roar of the crowd and my team was up by 10.

Suddenly the coach decided to play the bench though, and a gang of diminutive nerds walked onto the court, singing the song “This is Halloween” from the movie Nightmare before Christmas. They paid no attention to the game at all. The other team made layup after layup and I watched our lead fade. Whatever great game I had lost all meaning.

That’s okay, I thought, because they’re my friends.

And maybe that’s the point. To be with people you genuinely like brings more success than any “win.”

The Ebb and Flow of Fortunes

I’ve noticed it is easier to buy nothing when I have nothing to spend. As is human nature, spending inevitably increases with fortune. It is probably less so for me than most people, as I believe I still live a pretty modest lifestyle.

Still, I believe that I possess too much. It is true that I have a pretty small closet, but the closet is rife with stuff. I may own less than most, but I still own much more than I have at times in the past. I’ve experienced what it’s like to own almost nothing (my years in China), and I’ve experienced what it’s like to own everything I had inkling to buy. Of the two, I prefer nothing. It’s more freeing.

Fortunes ebb and flow. Time has humbled me enough to know this. A possession can easily become a burden. Life is tough enough. Best to minimize the burdens if given the option.

I’ve seen how new possessions inevitably rust and fade, and lose their lore. In today’s subscription-based economy, replacements must be purchased at regular intervals. One can easily become a slave to possessions.

I don’t believe owning nothing is necessarily healthy either. Humans evolved by using materials. Shoes allowed us to migrate north, for example.

I do believe I need to reassess what is essential and what was bought on impulse. The mind convinces itself a lot more is “necessary” to buy when there’s money in one’s pockets than it does when the pockets are empty.

How much is enough? This is a difficult question to answer because the answer constantly changes. Generally speaking though, it’s less than a consumer thinks.

If You Want to Learn

“It is impossible for a person to begin to learn what he thinks he already knows.” - Epictetus

Aging humbles me. The older I get, the less I realize I know. When a preconceived truth is proven wrong, a new one takes its place. Then that is proven wrong and I’m left wondering if there’s a red pill somewhere that finally provides the final, definite answer.

One can really go down a rabbit hole of “what ifs” in the search for truth. I remember an old middle school teacher challenging me by saying, “How do you know that God didn’t snap His fingers and create you, and all of your memories, five seconds ago?” The truth is I don’t, nor does anyone. We don’t know how long we’ve actually existed, although we have an educated guess, and we certainly have no clue how long we will continue to exist. Then, we have our theories on what happens after existence.

Somewhere in adolescence, swelled by our pride, I think we set out to form answers to every question. There’s never a time when we seemingly have more of the answers. I could prove any professor wrong back then.

Then time humbles us. It accelerates and snowballs, and as it gathers momentum our precious answers combust. At some point we’re a blank slate again, and maybe that’s for the best.

I still want to learn with whatever capacity I have.

Judgments

I sometimes wake up in the odd hours of the night with a brutal anxiety that I can’t describe. Usually it’s severe enough that my system enters “fight or flight” mode and cannot fall back asleep.

I’m awakened by a dream, usually, in which I’m either replaying a stressful past event or a hypothetical future one. It isn’t so much the event itself that causes me stress as it is my perception of the event and how it might affect me. For example, I often dream of making some awful work-related error that destroys my reputation or gets me fired. Even when awake, it feels too real to erase from my mind. Or my mind amplifies the stress by creating another dozen similar hypothetical scenarios. I ensnare myself in these fictions and convince myself that I am powerless.

It’s never the event that causes stress, as events are just moments in time. It’s our judgment regarding the event, and our ability (or inability) to let go.

Judgment plays a key role in how we shape and present ourselves. If it wasn’t for judgment I’d probably live like Rob Greenfield, owning just a dozen possessions and dumpster diving when I need something else. It’s a shame, really, that I still can’t seem to let go of my own need to uphold a reputation.

I still have time to learn though. Here’s to hoping I figure it out before my 40th birthday.

First Impressions

I try not to act too instinctively, though I think my instinct is usually pretty accurate. It isn’t foolproof though. No one’s instinct is completely foolproof. Some of my best friends in life, for example, were people I was initially intimidated by. I had to peel layers off the onion before realizing what there actually was.

So I try to question and challenge my initial impressions to exhaustion. Sometimes I overdo it and I find my mind in a permanent state of indecision. Sometimes I’m still wrong. But then, everyone and everything deserves a fair chance. Better to think things through than to completely misjudge.

Sometimes it takes years for first impressions to change. Sometimes, through those years, views fluctuate back and forth. I’ve had conflicting views on education and politics for my entire adult life. One should reserve the right to change them.

I know that the first impression I imprint on others is rarely one of the person I am. It takes awhile for my sense of humor to emerge. So I try to consider that, too, when forming first impressions.

Maybe in my constant questioning I’ll arrive at a higher truth.

Assessing Counterfeits

If someone were to offer you gold, the first thing you’d likely do is ascertain its worth. You don’t want to be ripped off, after all.

It seems easier, as society moves online, to accept a headline as true without passing much judgment. We’d be skeptical of free gold but all too eager to accept a stranger’s advertisement or news headline. We often parrot what we read with little questioning. I’m guilty of having done this. What we accept most readily depends on our preexisting ideology.

I aim to test the validity of anything before accepting it. It’s how I hope to refrain from becoming the product of someone else.

I’ve read a lot lately on the health benefits of mushrooms. There seems to be little scientific evidence one way or the other for most of the health claims, but I’ve been trying mushroom coffee in the morning. The brand I’m trying mixes six types of mushrooms: shiitake, lion’s mane, reishi, cordyceps, king trumpet, and turkey tail.

An old work friend recommended it. In the wake of COVID lockdowns, he said, feelings of isolation and depression began to overtake him. He tried mushroom coffee daily and it changed his life for the better. He slept better and felt both more energized and more hopeful about himself. His motivation skyrocketed. He completed his first triathlon and while nearing age 50, possessed the vitality of a 30-year-old.

Why not try it, I figured. He seems trustworthy, and he gave me a free 30 day supply. I’ll try just about anything… “for science.”

So I tried mushroom coffee for about 30 days. Did it make a difference? Well, my sleep improved to the point that it became top notch, I was writing creativity again for the first time in years, and I felt an overall sense of contentment. It could’ve just been the reduction in caffeine. That’s still a benefit though.

It was difficult to be sure what was real and what was placebo, so I went without mushroom coffee for about two weeks. In those two weeks my sleep quality worsened and I found some of my old anxieties slowly returning.

It’s difficult to know for certain what is and isn’t a factor of the mushrooms, but I’ll keep taking the mushroom coffee… for now, at least, it doesn’t seem to be counterfeit.

Moderation?

I always hear that moderation is key and while I understand the logic, I struggle to abide by the mantra. That might be because I cannot recall anything I accomplished via moderation. Maybe it’s just the way I’m wired. I like extremes. I gravitate towards the most aggressive music and am more likely to praise an album if it has a high production value. I never cared for the “garage band” sound. Nicolas Cage is the apotheosis of acting for me. Go big or go home.

I think it’s the same with how I exercise, which is probably what gave me the name “Manimal” in my college days. I never argued that was a good thing. It’s somewhat masochistic, and I know it’s not a “key to longevity.” I tell myself I’ll dial things back but have yet to actually do it. Maybe this will be the year. After the Boston marathon, that is.

I did buy a new bike, a Cannondale Synapse 2, which I’m stoked to try out. I believe my road riding days are mostly over. Drivers scare me. I’ll stick to greenways and trails when possible. I liked the Synapse as a “do it all” bike that can handle most Missouri paths. Also, it’s lavender, and spring is near.

I want to lay off the running a little after this next marathon and enjoy more leisurely cycling. I spent much of 2024 rehabbing from overuse injuries and although I’m feeling fresh now, I’d rather not repeat the same mistake. I’d rather read books than devote another year to physical therapy. Famous last words…

My initial takes on some recent films:

Companion=Excellent

The Monkey=Mildly amusing

Heart Eyes = Brilliant opener, routine otherwise

Daylight Savings

The clocks will move back an hour on Sunday, meaning the sun will set at a later hour. I’m looking forward to that because a longer day is one of the first signs of spring. Budding flowers are soon to follow.

About a month ago I bought a season pass to Alamo Drafthouse cinema, my favorite movie theater chain. I’ve been seeing a lot more movies in theaters. It’s been nice returning to the weekly ritual of going to the movies. The theater feels as much like a home to me as any place I’ve lived.

Rock band Ghost released a new single, “Satanized,” which features an excellent chorus. “Save me from the monster that is eating me.” I have that line stuck in my head.

Regarding “dialing things back,” I’m looking to relax more in the upcoming months, especially after my next marathon. Exercise in particular can be a grind and it’s too easy to fall into the trap of asceticism, a trap laid well by the Protestant work ethic. Leisure is underrated. I aim to do more cycling, but “relaxed” cycling. Riding for the sake of getting fresh air.

I feel as though I’ve reunited with some of my old creative writing peers. Hopefully that provides some inspiration…

Old Strength, and Returning

I started a weekly strength training class called “Old Man Strength” (I guess I’ve finally attained the honors to join this class thanks to Father Time). It was great, I learned some new exercises and had the instructor correct a few bad habits I had on exercises I knew. I will definitely be sore tomorrow. I like that most exercises involved full range of motion, single leg balance, and power. That’s what I was looking for. In fact more important than strength, to me, is power. It’s actually power that typically diminishes at a faster rate than strength when you get past 40. Power is also a more useful tool, in my opinion. You break a brick with your fist primarily with power.

The class started at 7 am and lasted an hour. I had a rare meeting at 8 am and I said screw it, and I made bacon and eggs and ate them slowly instead. I want to enjoy a ritual, not shove food down my throat for the sake of moving forward. People who request meetings at 8 am should be tarred and feathered. A peaceful morning is sacred.

Nothing interesting playing at the cinemas. Squid Game season 2 started slow but I’m invested now that I’m on episode 4. I think the South Koreans are producing a lot of high quality cinema/television.

I hate that my smartphone always follows me around and seems to demand attention. They’re doing their best to become appendages. Nostalgic for the days of arriving home from school and roaming the local neighborhoods and parks at dusk. Maybe once free of the 9-5 I’ll find a way to minimize phone use. You can’t really think in a state of distraction.

Denzel said something along the lines of, “Youth is for learning, the middle is for earning, and the older years are for returning.” Maybe I’m old, or I’m returning a little early. I’m good with either of those.

Back and Forth

I went for a lunch run today because I couldn’t muster the willpower to get a long aerobic effort in before work. My cat woke me up fairly early anyways, as he always does. The second he sees me stir for a moment he seizes the opportunity.

The park where I usually run was covered in snow and ice. Kids were sledding down one of the steeper hills, and I wished that I had a sled at that moment. Instead I ran, back and forth, along a clear road. For some quality I ran at high intensity up an incline, and then jogged back down. I felt sluggish, which I expected after being snowed in the last few days. Back and forth, back and forth. We adults are too linear when there’s a hill to sled down just a quarter mile away.

I watched the movie The Quick and the Dead (1995), a star-studded revisionist western that few people know about. It was one of Russell Crowe’s and Leo DiCaprio’s earlier films (before Gladiator and Titanic). It starred Sharon Stone in the lead role as “The Lady,” who is essentially the female version of the Man with No Name.

Overall I liked the film and you can clearly see the Raimi influence on the gunfights. The classic cartoonish zoom into a wound that we saw countless times in Evil Dead films works very well here.

Most of what I read on the film described it as a “revisionist western” because the film places a female in the role typically assigned to a male. I don’t think it shatters the mold so much as offers a fun spin on it. Maybe “adjustment western” is more accurate. The viewing experience is more or less the same. It’s a good viewing experience though, and the cast and crew did a grew job making the movie.

Sharon Stone was convincing in the lead role, blending grit with vulnerability to add depth to her character. Leo/Russell are always great. Gene Hackman always thrives as a villain.

I wish the film spent more time with the other scoundrels in the gun contest. They were an interesting bunch, a mixture of thieves, assassins, and escaped convicts. But at under 2 hours the film could only do so much. Still, if I were to write a western film today it would tell their stories.

I’m one episode into Creature Commandos and so far it’s doing nothing for me. I didn’t laugh or find any of the characters particularly compelling. I thought Gunn nailed the humor and characters in his Suicide Squad and was surprised that I didn’t care for this one. I’ll watch a few more episodes and see if I change my mind.

Is the Grass Greener?

I have contemplated leaving the 9-5 grind for several years, or maybe since I first entered it, which is more than several years ago. I left it once for a China adventure, which is another story to tell. That was only a brief diversion though, and I eventually returned to the grind.

I fear leaving the grind because of the mantra, “the grass is always greener on the other side.” “Be careful what you wish for” is another way of putting it. Safety becomes a drug that the corporate worker becomes dependent on.

There are plenty of reasons to hate the grind and one can easily find a YouTube video that explains these reasons in good detail. It’s often soul crushing. You’re just a number. You’re a cog in the wheel. You’re exploited. Most of the relationships are shallow. They’ll replace you the second they can. Emails spur anxiety. Productivity is punished with more tasks, rather than rewarded the ability to create more. The tasks are mostly empty and meaningless. The list goes on.

So we find ourselves listless, sitting, staring at a screen, and wondering if this is really it.

And so many of us tolerate the grind because “at least we have that 401!” I’ve thought this and even said it out loud countless times. Or we stay in the grind because we’ve sunken so far in debt that we have no choice. Or because we’ve established a lifestyle that requires it. Or because we fear the removal of perks that we’ve become addicted to (it’s true, at least, that the 401k is an incredible thing).

Contemplating the risks of the present and future have often rendered me immobile for long periods of time, and I’ve been immobile on this decision for quite awhile. I imagine every possible scenario and live it in my mind. A calculated risk for me is often well calculated.

For example, let’s assume I leave the 9-5 grind with what I have now, and I have enough to coast to old age, and perhaps even to the end. What if I get a debilitating health condition in the later years and lack the funding to treat it? Funding that I would’ve had, if I stuck it out another two years in the 9-5 grind?

And yet, who’s to say just how much labor guarantees health security? The true answer, if one really thinks logically, is that insurance guarantees nothing. Society has told us that security is a purchasable commodity. It is this lie that strips us of the nearest thing to security: a healthy lifestyle.

If senility eventually overcomes me, does security even matter? If my mind is gone, my body might as well be too. And if I’m hit with a crippling physical malady? What use is a nice insurance package to life if I can’t go outside anyways?

Which of my fears are the most logical? Surely I’d at least have health insurance in old age to cover most of these morbid scenarios? But what if the cost escalates so high that I eventually cannot pay for it? And to counter this point, if I actually took care of myself, wouldn’t this be better insurance than even the best health insurance?

The greatest health insurance is a solid diet and routine movement. It doesn’t guarantee long life, but it increases the odds. A nice insurance package has significant drawbacks if one lives an unhealthy lifestyle. And the percentage of people living healthy lifestyles in the 9-5 grand is disturbingly low.

Most of my fears assume I would not make money after leaving the 9-5. I also know this to be false. Freelance work is more prevalent than ever.

So, there is an overall case for leaving. Most of my fears can be argued as illogical.

I’ve also slaved away for years already, storing as much as I can in order to no longer be dependent on long work hours. I’m approximately halfway through life, which arguably is too long to drudge away at meaningless tasks that satisfy only other people. I can see signs of this drudgery in the dark circles beneath my eyes and the overall exhaustion that often incapacitates me. I believe that broken people are chronically exhausted. The soul is mortally wounded and as a result, we drag ourselves, kicking and screaming, to perform every little task.

I seem to only recover on vacation, but the recovery doesn’t last as long these days.

I want to spend more of my life creating.

Creativity has a shelf life. We have a shelf life. The 9-5 tends to shake the hourglass violently enough that the sand falls faster. When is the right time to walk away? How much security is enough? These are questions we all must ask ourselves.

And then I ask myself again, as I imagine the glowing exit sign hanging over me as I walk out of the 9-5 grind for the last time: will the grass really be greener?

Snowed In

A snowstorm hit over the weekend and plastered snow and ice over everything, which is an excellent excuse to be idle at home.

I’ve been on an anime series kick lately after binging through 5 seasons of Demon Slayer. I drew a lot of parallels between this show and Star Wars (or, one could argue, the hero’s journey in general). Rengoku, featured in season 2, was clearly the narrative’s version of “Obi Wan”. That’s probably why he was one of my favorite characters. A screenwriter once told me that every great story has some sort of “Obi Wan” character in the narrative. I can see why, as there is profound drama in having a mentor sacrifice himself or herself in order to give the protagonist the necessary tools to complete a journey.

Yesterday my girlfriend and I played a full 30 rounds of Mario Party Jamboree on Switch, a game that lasted from noon to bedtime. It actually made for an excellent day.

If there’s one thing I’ve always strived for, it’s to keep an open mind to everything and admit when I’m wrong.

The latest example of me being wrong is regarding minimalist shoes. I’ve mentioned before, but over the previous spring I developed a chronic and debilitating case of plantar fasciitis. I was convinced that the solution was in minimalist footwear, and the cause was cushioned shoes. The months that followed proved me wrong (and proved the case much more complicated).

It wasn’t until I started visiting a chiropractor that I was able to fully clear out the plantar fasciitis. As it turned out, minimalist footwear was exacerbating the problem, though it was not necessarily the cause of the problem, which is a subject for another blog. I needed arch support from firm orthotics to prevent the plantar fascia from overstretching throughout the day. It’s difficult to heal a foot trauma when you’re a biped because walking is kinda important. I coupled the orthotic wear with foot strengthening exercises, prolonged calf stretches, and a decrease of running mileage. Over the course of weeks, I finally noticed significant healing. Over the past month I’ve participated in a few road races without any setbacks and consider myself fully functional now.

Human beings are highly adaptable to the environment. A few years ago I was bike commuting in winter weather. Back then I was adapted to the frigid air well enough to withstand just about any temperature. I’d arrive at the grocery store with icicles hanging from my chin hair, looking like some insane yeti on the hunt. This season I feel much more domesticated and I’m okay with that.

New Year, New Me?

2025 is the year of my 40th birthday, which I regard as approximately the halfway point of life. I’ve heard the optimistic types tell me that no, it’s not midlife! One should expect to live much longer than 80. To that I say, one should expect nothing, but a little hope is probably fine. Look at the median age in America: it’s right around 80, though it depends on a lot of factors. And the odds of maladies increase exponentially in the later years. I measure life by healthspan, not lifespan.

I’ve never been into resolutions and haven’t made any for 2025, though there are a few new habits I’d like to set (I consider it prioritizing, not goal setting):

• Creativity over profit. The problem with chasing “enough” money is that “enough” is a bottomless pit that can never be filled. It’s the closest thing to a vampire in the world today. It thirsts for blood, but each victim only temporarily satiates. I’d like to switch my view of money to a means of survival, not a means to meaning (not that I ever saw money as everything, but I do believe I let it dictate too many decisions the past few years).

• Sleep over screens.

• Self-belief over fear.

• Idle deep thought over task-oriented mindlessness.

• Newness over routine.

I’m sure there are other priorities I’d benefit in setting, but these are the first that come to mind.

A snowstorm is due in two days. The gaunt clouds overhead strangle the sun and paint the world in grays.

I went for a morning run that left my throat dry and ears numb. I finished the run feeling better. It’s a reminder that discomfort is refreshing.

Tonight I’ll buy some trailrunners so that I can hopefully run on snow next week.

The last film of 2024 I watched was Nosferatu. Hence the vampire metaphor. Beautiful cinematography, excellent acting, creepy narrative.

So long 2024… 40 is knockin’ on the door.

Grinding the Teeth

I am a chronic teeth grinder, especially while I sleep. So much so that I often wake up with headaches, and sometimes they’re intense enough to last for over an hour. For the second time I’ve managed to grind out the dental fillings in one of my teeth. The fillings of a third tooth are loosening and will likely break off soon. I literally ground my teeth with such pressure that the fillings popped right out.

It’s a problem that my stubborn sleep-self refuses to fix.

I’m not sure if you can meditate your way out of teeth grinding, but maybe I’ll try. Getting fillings at the dentist sucks enough that I’m going down the Google rabbit hole in search of a fix.

It may be a surprise to many because I’m usually calm by day. Maybe it’s the universe’s way of balancing things out. Light casts a shadow over every object.

I find myself thinking about death more often lately. Maybe it’s 40 approaching, which is approximately the midway point. Maybe it’s that I’m old enough to know people who have died, which inevitably happens if you live long enough. Then you mourn, process the moments that seemed so fleeting in retrospect, and find that life mercilessly moves on. Time doesn’t slow for their final moments, nor does society pause for your mourning. Your elders tell you not to wait for tomorrow for good reason.

I’m not scared of death, probably because I do think about it and recognize its inevitability. I see people around me who are my age or younger and are clearly terrified. Some dye their hair, get lifts or tucks, spend their free time searching for the latest anti-aging supplements, or pay for whatever hides the incurable decay that age inflicts. I’m good with all of it.

I’m also good to ride with time. It’s not like I have a choice. That doesn’t mean I won’t push my limits to the final moments. When Death does arrive, it’ll have to run me down and then keep swinging to the end of the final round. My University of Texas Swimming teammates used to say, “If you’re gonna beat Matt, it’s possible, but he’ll make you suffer for it.” That’s the attitude I want to take to the end.

But I do need to get a hold of this teeth grinding issue.

What is Terrifying?

There’s a lot of buzz surrounding the film Terrifier 3, which landed number 1 at the box office opening weekend. As someone who studies numbers closely that had me thinking, There must be something to this franchise that I’m missing. So, I streamed Terrifier 2 out of curiosity. Everything I read suggested you can skip the first one, which was thin on both narrative and budget, and jump straight to the sequel.

Most of the buzz surrounding the franchise centers on its gratuitous violence. The marketing seemed to dare audiences to sit through the third film “without vomiting.” That doesn’t appeal to me. It’s true that I love a good rollercoaster, but I get motion sick each time I ride. I either vomit or get close to vomiting. At least rollercoasters defy gravity though. The same feeling without the speed doesn’t seem pleasant.

But there must be something to these films! Critics and audiences seem to like them.

So I streamed part 2. The positives: good cinematography. Inventive dream sequences. Effective creation of nostalgia (I felt like I was both outside on Halloween night last week, and trapped somewhere in the ‘80s). Maybe one of the best musical scores I’ve heard in years (I’m a sucker for the 80’s style synth music). The actor playing Art the Clown did a great job at being scary and twisted. He’s creepy as hell. I’d be lying if I said the movie didn’t keep me interested.

The cons: too violent for me. I’ve gotta be honest, it crossed my limits. This film is downright repulsive and not in a good way. Maybe I’m too old for the gross stuff. If a film is going to be transgressive with its violence, I need a purpose somewhere. You could even argue the violence in silly sci-fi films like Starship Troopers serves a purpose (it emphasizes the lack of individuality in the grunt soldiers). But violence for the sake of being violent just isn’t funny or thrilling. There has to be a narrative weaving through the violence. I didn’t detect enough of one or really any message about anything other than “this clown is really bad!”

So yeah, there are good elements to the movie. There always are. Nothing is ever all good or all bad, it’s all on a spectrum. But there weren’t nearly enough good elements to get me interested in part 3.

Maybe it is age but I’d rather watch something silly and simple. I heard Happy Gilmore 2 is releasing next year. I’m much more excited for that than Terrifier 3.

Every Loss is an Advantage

There’s something to be said about the long-term benefits of losing.

I had a lot of second place finishes as an NCAA swimmer in college, both individually and as part of a team. I think that I would’ve become too complacent, had any of them been a win. Winning can give you a false sense of finality to life.

Instead it’s almost two decades later and I still get excited to exercise every morning. I still like to test my limits and compete. It’s all still fun to me.

This can be applied to anything in life. There’s nothing that softens someone like an easy victory. Bane said something about this before he broke Batman’s back in The Dark Knight Rises. “Victory has defeated you.”

One thing I enjoy about running is that I’m not the fastest. I just enjoy it. There’s no risk of victory defeating me.

Preferring It Darker

I just finished the recent Stephen King short story collection, You Like It Darker. It features some of King’s best work. “Rattlesnakes” was the standout story for me. The collection is aptly titled for its readers. Yes, I prefer fiction suffused with darkness.

I watched Smile 2 in theaters on Halloween night. It might’ve been the first film I’d seen in awhile that was too dark. It was downright nihilistic. I need a shred of hope for my characters, but they were given none. I can only take so much unease when I’m paying money for entertainment. That said, it’s a well-made film. I don’t know whether I enjoyed it or not.

I took a walk through my neighborhood yesterday, on Halloween, and a light breeze sent leaves showering over the world around me. Every organism needs to shed something occasionally. Watching the trees rid themselves of dead foliage, I thought about time, in general, and about how I’m approximately halfway through this thing called life, give or take a few years. And that’s being optimistic, assuming the millions of potential maladies don’t destroy me first.

What a brief time we have, I thought, and yet there are millions of organisms allowed much briefer time (and some lucky ones, such as the trees we walk by each day, that may still stand when our great grandkids are on their deathbeds).

When my mind veers that direction I think of the importance of prioritizing your own time. If you don’t, someone else will prioritize yours for you. And life’s too brief to allow much of that.

The Only Constant is Change

I was in the office building on a weekday morning hurrying towards the coffee lounge and feeling both lethargic and unmotivated when I ran into an old friend, Donald, whom I hadn’t spoken to in awhile. We’re in different departments.

Years back, while cycling to work, I’d often greet him on the road as he rode his e-bike to work. We biked to work in any condition: rain, sleet, and snow, it didn’t matter. I guess we were kindred spirits, the only two who did this regularly, with a story we shared and yet no one around us would ever understand. You get to know the other cyclists fast when there’s only a few of you in the area.

“You still riding the e-bike in?” I asked him.

“No. Not since they added the security gates,” he said. And neither have I. The gates occlude all of the easiest bike paths, leaving only a dangerous and high-traffic street as access to the building.

“I hate cycling on Campus Parkway,” I said. There are some drivers who would nonchalantly hit a cyclist if no one was around to see it.

“Yeah,” he said. “And my bike kept getting caught in the turnstile.” I hadn’t thought about that, as I hadn’t actually tried to carry my bike through. The irony is there’s actually a bike rack inside the security gates, but it’s now impossible to get a bike to it!

“I miss those days, cycling in. The world slows down for you.”

“And you feel like you can do anything. People say it’s impossible, but you do it anyways.”

“You bike to work when it’s sleeting and your hands are numb, and you’re thinking what the hell is wrong with me. But you also know that you can struggle and win.”

I miss those days, seeing Donald on the road as dawn winks at the horizon and slowly eviscerates the darkness. However, the only constant is change, and that chapter has closed. I realize that I’ll probably never see Donald on the road again and feel melancholy.

An e-mail circulates about a company “green initiative,” and the “need to recycle!” I think about Donald, unable to carry his e-bike through the security gate’s turnstiles, and I think about how everyone looked at us as lunatics when we parked our bikes in the morning.